


Dear Dad... I'm Seeing Green, He's Seeing Red

by rainydayadvocate



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Debauchery, Gen, Letters, St. Patrick's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 06:40:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17617424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainydayadvocate/pseuds/rainydayadvocate
Summary: St. Patrick's Day is approaching, which means the 4077th gets a reprieve from the usual drudgery to enjoy a party. Unfortunately, I Corps sends a message that may put an end to it. B.J. is fine skipping the festivities this year, but the rest of the camp is determined to make it happen. Hawkeye was in the middle of writing home to his dad when this little incident occurred.Set in/around Seasons 6 and 7 of M*A*S*H.





	Dear Dad... I'm Seeing Green, He's Seeing Red

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sokrates_pupil](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sokrates_pupil/gifts).



> I hope this meets your desire for one of the 'by-the-book' characters throwing the book out the window while a maverick sticks to it. I tried to write it straight, but my brain really wanted it to be a letter episode. Enjoy!

_Dear Dad,_

_Another winter is crawling to an end here in Korea, not that we can tell through the freezing days and frosty nights. Not only have I been unable to persuade any nurses to enjoy my company, we’ve been worked to the bone. If we’re not in OR, we’re probably at an aid station, or waiting on news about a patient we sent to the 8063rd. Our usual distractions are not distracting enough, and the unusual ones have been in short supply. Klinger hasn’t even made a new dress this month._

_The only thing we’d had to look forward to these last few weeks has been St. Patrick’s Day. Pointless American holidays are a treat over here, Dad. I can’t even describe how excited we are for an excuse to throw a party. We even got Charles into the spirit of it._

***

Radar whisked his way into the swamp, finding Hawkeye and Charles working together, for once, on a number of banners and remarkably stupid hats. “I must say, Charles, I’m surprised you’re actually willing to be part of these festivities.”

“I don’t know why that should surprise you, Pierce. Boston was the first to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day in the colonies all the way back in 1737. It is a time-honored and wonderful tradition.” The card stock top hat in his hand with shamrocks attached by springs didn’t do much to support his _time-honored_ argument.

“Excuse me, sirs?” Radar said, shifting the mail bag on his shoulder. He was holding a new notification from I Corps, and he was pretty sure it would put a dampener on their fun.

“Radar, perfect timing. Does this Orange Crush taste weird to you?”

Hawkeye held up an Orange Crush soda bottle full of dark green liquid. Radar curled his nose. “Oh, geez, Hawkeye, what is that?”

“St. Patrick’s Day Orange Crush. I tried to do it to a grape Nehi, but it was too dark. I was surprised how easily the orange took to the green without going brown.”

Radar pushed the drink away and centered his glasses on his nose. “Sirs, would you please listen for a minute? I’ve got news from I Corps and I don’t think it’s good news.”

“Aren’t you supposed to take that to the Colonel first, Corporal?” Charles said, without looking up from the next hat almost put together.

“Uh, yes, sir. But see, I thought you might want to know before I let the Colonel know because once the Colonel knows, you may wish you knew before he knew,” Radar said.

Hawkeye looked up from the lettered banner he was stringing together. “I can’t argue with that logic. What does it say, Radar?”

Radar put the mail bag down and opened the letter. “Due to enemy activity in the area, we are to cease and desist any plans for St. Patrick’s Day celebrations. They are too loud and rowdy and we are too close to the front and will likely put ourselves in danger if we choose to have a party.”

“What? Give me that.” Hawkeye took the letter and read it over to himself, mouthing “cease and desist” as he did so. “They can’t do this. The army knows we need holidays all about drinking. It’s all we have to look forward to.”

“This does strike me as a rather unusual request,” Charles agreed. “After all, Pierce, the way you and Hunnicutt go through your own distilled spirits should be more than enough to alert the enemy to our location. If they haven’t found us yet, I doubt this holiday will make a difference.”

“Well, said, Charles. Well said.”

“But I still have to tell the Colonel,” Radar said, taking back the letter. “You know he usually prefers to follow orders, being a Colonel and all.”

“We’ll come with you, help make a case,” Hawkeye said, standing with his banner stretched between his hands. “Coming, Charles?”

“Indubitably.” He stood up and put one fo the newly created hats on his head. “Onward, gentlemen.”

***

_It’s funny how priorities change out here, Dad. I couldn’t tell you the last time I partook in a St. Patrick’s Day party at home—actually, I can. Her name was Lucy, and she wore green shamrocks on her—never mind. At home, I would’ve shrugged my shoulders at the loss of the party. Here, it’s everything. And nothing could stand in our way._

_As we crossed the compound to the Colonel’s office, we ran into Klinger, fresh off KP duty (you can always tell by the faint scent of garlic and old socks emanating from his frock). He’s been wearing green brooches and fascinators all month in an effort to make his non-green wardrobe St. Patrick’s Day appropriate. As you can imagine, he was equally distressed by the news that our party might be cancelled. He even helped me carry the banner into Potter’s office._

***

The Colonel sat behind his desk in his painting clothes, ignoring a long streak of paint on his face. B.J. sat across from him, his face in his hands. “Look, son, you did the best you could. You saved a lot of lives today at that aid station.”

“I shouldn’t have needed to save any lives today, Colonel. Those boys were purposefully walked into a trap—a completely unnecessary advance!”

“I’m not disagreeing with you, and I will gladly submit this to headquarters, but you need to accept that you did a great job and find a way to unwind.”

B.J. ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. “Unwind. How can I possibly unwind knowing I saved less than 40% of the good young men forced into an impossible situation? They were all alive when they were brought to the aid station, Colonel. All of them! And I couldn’t even save half.”

The St. Patrick’s Day committee stood huddled in the doorway, unsure how to interrupt this conversation. Potter, at a loss for how to comfort B.J., looked up at them. “What can I do for the four of you?”

Radar broke in from behind everyone else and handed Potter the message from I Corps. “We’ve been ordered to not have a St. Patrick’s Day party, Colonel, on account of everyone’s safety, being so close to the front.”

Klinger looked down at the banner he and Hawkeye were holding and frowned. “Sir, this only says HAPPY ST. PATRI.”

“It’s a work in progress. It still seemed like an important piece of evidence for this pow wow,” Hawkeye defended.

Potter read through the letter quickly, shaking his head. “We don’t make that much more noise on St. Patrick’s Day than we do any other day of the year. I see no reason to follow this directive, as long as all celebration is relegated to the Officers’ Club and doesn’t leave the Officers’ Club.”

B.J. shook his head and snatched the letter away. “I understand I Corps’s concern in this. I think we should follow it.”

Charles cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Clearly, Hunnicutt, this trip to the front was a rather trying experience for you, but you must see reason. Morale is low and we need a reason to celebrate. What better way than a time-honored holiday?”

“Beej, you know I hate to agree with Charles, but our shiny Bostonian friend is right. We all deserve some non-Army bright green and terrible beer.”

B.J. sighed and pushed through the group everyone. “Fine. Celebrate, rain the enemy down on us, but don’t expect me in the operating room when the shrapnel falls. I’ve seen too much of it this week.” He slammed Potter’s swinging door open and took off towards the Swamp.

Potter stood up to watch him through the window, hands in his pockets. “Hawkeye, can you—”

“Call Sidney?” Hawkeye offered, leaning on the wall with an arm around the skeleton, the other still holding the banner between him and Klinger.

“Please. I don’t want B.J.’s morale drop any lower. Major, you’re in charge of the party. Officers’ Club, get it good and decorated, and come up with a way to keep it quiet.”

“It will be my pleasure, Colonel. Permission to employ the assistance of Major Houlihan and Corporal Klinger?” Charles asked.

“Permission granted. Let’s get a move on, people.”

***

_I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed, Dad, but I’m not very good at waiting. The time between putting my call in for Sidney and his arrival was excruciating. I couldn’t be in the Swamp. B.J.’s foul mood was inconsolable. Normally even when we’re angry, we can still sit side by side and be angry together._

_These moments are different, though. I’ve been there. I’ve reached this same breaking point before, where I can’t move on, and I don’t want anyone to make me feel better. Sometimes I can drown it in alcohol and sometimes I drive up to the peace talks. What I can’t do is pull my friend out of the same slump. It’s not because I don’t want to. It’s because the moment I stop and think about it too hard, I know I’ll drop just as low as B.J. Damn, I hate this place._

_I hate this place so much I’ve picked up horseshoes to pass the time. Don’t expect this newfound hobby to follow me home to Crabapple Cove._

***

While Hawkeye waited for Sidney’s arrival, throwing horseshoes in compound, Klinger walked by in his uniform pushing a wheelbarrow full of pillows. “Do I want to know?” he asked.

Klinger motioned to the Officers’ Club. “With the Majors in charge, I don’t ask. I just do.”

Klinger whistled on his way just as Sidney arrived. “Ah, doctor, perhaps you can help me,” Hawkeye said to him. “I’ve taken a sudden liking to horseshoes, though I have no attachment to horses and find the pastime rather boring. Can you explain this strange desire to me?”

Sidney climbed out of the Jeep, took the last two horseshoes from Hawkeye, and threw them, hooking them perfectly around the spike. “I would say you’re avoiding the Swamp in an effort to avoid the reason you called me.”

“What skill at deduction. No wonder they pay you the big Major bucks.”

Sidney laughed and clapped Hawkeye on the shoulder. “What’s up with B.J.?”

Hawkeye sighed and lowered his voice as he crossed to retrieve the horseshoes. Sidney followed. “He just got back from an aid station. They were hit bad, Beej was the only doctor they had up there. He was only able to save about forty percent of the battalion that was injured.”

“Oh boy.”

“Yeah. You know how we are about losing patients. He saved everyone he could spend time on, but there were too many of them and only one B.J.. We can’t get him to let off steam.”

“Do we have any options to help him let off steam, besides the usual still gin and poker?”

“A St. Patrick’s Day party.”

“I thought I Corps cancelled all St. Patrick’s Day parties.”

“Since when do we listen to I Corps?”

Sidney chuckled and threw a couple of the horseshoes, doing a significantly better job than Hawkeye. “Sounds like it’s time to get your roommate in on the fun.”

***

_Sometimes I wonder if I could’ve been a good psychiatrist. We certainly have to be therapists sometimes. But then I look at the way Sidney deals with his patients and I realize, no. I have far too much righteous indignation and penned up anger to ever be good at sustaining the calm he does with patients._

***

B.J.’s mood was not easily persuaded. Sidney sent Hawkeye away to join the festivities while he sat with B.J. The camp was silent, other than the pacing of the the privates on guard duty. Even Post-op was quiet; most of the injured were in good enough shape to be in the Officers’ Club with everyone else.

Sidney sat on Hawkeye’s bed playing a round of solitaire. B.J. had been sipping at a glass of gin. This particular brew was rougher than normal, and he winced after almost every swallow.

“I really don’t know why Hawk and the Colonel sent for you Sidney. I think I’m being reasonable. Unnecessary bloodshed and unnecessary danger are perfectly reasonable things to oB.J.ect to.”

“Of course they are,” Sidney agreed, flipping over his discard pile and placing a couple more cards. “I don’t think their concern was over the sentiment. I think they were concerned that you weren’t going to allow yourself to heal from this experience.”

“Time will heal this. Time and the numbness this terrible place causes.”

“Not always,” Sidney said. “Time certainly helps. But you are not one who stews. You release your tension and it’s the release of that tension that allows you to heal. Think back to a few months ago, when you caused a string of practical jokes around the camp. Nothing was as satisfying as Frank getting soaked during the fake air raid.”

B.J. managed a chuckle and took another drink. “It was one of my finest jokes.”

“I’m thrilled I was a part of it. But that’s the point, B.J.. That is how you deal. You do not sit here and support an I Corps initiative that puts an end to a party. You find a way to make the party happen anyway.”

“But I can’t see any more people unnecessary hurt right now.”

“The party was banned because it would be too loud and draw attention this close to the front. I don’t know about you, but I don’t hear a party.”

Noticing the quiet of the camp for the first time, B.J. stood and glanced out the tent side, taking in the silent compound and the light under the Officers’ Club door. “The camp is never this still. They can’t possibly be partying.”

“Hard as it is to believe in this place, I think they did find a way. Come on, B.J. Let’s go see how the festivities are going.”

With some more coaxing, Sidney got B.J. up and they walked to the club. When they opened the door, they weren’t met with a lot of noise, but they were surrounded by green. Everyone wore Charles’s card stock green hats, and most had green or shamrock beads and a few feather boas. Paper shamrocks covered the tables and bar. The walls, every inch, were covered in pillows, duct taped into place. There must not have been a single pillow left in the rest of the compound.

“B.J. has arrived,” Hawkeye yelled in a whisper. Everyone else joined him in a whispered cheer, and rather than clapping their hands, they snapped their fingers.

B.J. laughed and looked around. “What is this?”

“A party that even I Corps could love,” Hawkeye replied. “But keep your voice down. We’re seeing who can talk the loudest while still whispering. So far the Colonel and Radar are in the lead.”

“It’s a pretty great game,” Radar said, approaching with a dyed Orange Crush. “Here you are, sir.”

B.J. took the soda bottle in hand and stared at it. “I’m afraid of this.”

“As you should be, my good man. As you should be.” Hawkeye pulled him farther into the room, Sidney right behind them with his own dyed beverage. “But don’t worry, once you down your entire green soda, we’ll treat you to a beer.”

At the center table, Charles and Margaret had already earned at least one beer, because they were laughing together, silently. Father Mulcahy sat at his usual place at the piano, but it, too, had been covered pillows and sounded like it was buried next to the latrine.

“So what do you think?” Hawkeye whispered in B.J.’s ear, offering him what looked (but probably didn’t taste) a shepherd’s pie.

“I think ... this is just the kind of party I need tonight.”

***

_As is usual with our parties, Dad, most of us didn’t make it home last night. As the party wound down, we untaped the pillows from the walls and made makeshift beds on the floor and furniture. I write this to you from the corner where I’m curled up on three chairs and pillows. B.J. is curled up like a baby on the bar, looking peaceful._

_I know I’ve said it before, and I know I’ll say it again, but this place is hell. It’s hell with an occasional good moment. Last night was a good moment, and I hope it gets us through until the spring thaw. Take care of yourself, Dad, and write soon. Sooner. Soonest._

_Your son,  
Hawkeye_


End file.
